life lessons

I’ve been wronged and cheated! Been played the fool and made a foolish victim. OH! jake, you thought you were strong, you thought you could survive in this inner city life, where crooks and criminals sleep along the streets. And men of confidence used as a guise in order to pick your back pocket. Oh foul world what have I done to deserve such harsh and unretractable lessons. Give me a second chance fate. I beg you, allow me to start again. I will not look the other way and leave my world unguarded free to be snatched by the hands of soulless mischief.
I’ve read too many books, and believed in Walt Whitman to soundly. Why Walt? Why must you live in a world that is not consistent with the reality that surrounds us?!! Why Walt, oh please! Tell me why?!! I put faith in you and my trust that all men are good and righteous. And I believed you when you said we are brothers and there is an inherent connection which bonds us all. But, oh, the sting it does create. To put faith in my fellow humans. To believe so inaccurately that my brothers would protect me as I would protect them. It would have been better if a hawk or a condor or if the fabled griffin himself had swooped down from the sky to snatch my satchel, then to feel the cold blade of betrayal turned diagonally in my unsuspecting back. I feel like ceaser, with trust in my brutus, only to be overthrown in the name of foolish antics such as simple commerce. Had you asked, oh man with veiled face, I would have given you a sandwich, would have fed you, my brother in darkness, till thy belly was full and no longer did evil intentions propel your existence. Death be thy name and I have seen ye in the face. Seen your cruel resemblance to the devil waking in the crowded streets, preying on the innocent man enjoying a pepsi in the plaza. Inner city life, I will no longer be so vein. I will no longer live in my dreams and the books that seem so foolish to me now. Trust I have not. Confidence I have lost. Inner city, I watch thee as ye walk away!

K, so my bag got stolen today. Son of a bitch, right!? I find it kinda funny. Kinda. In the sort of way that whoever stole it didn’t get his troubles worth. I was sitting in front of the riena sofia museum enjoying a pepsi and a cig before going into the museum, when one finely dressed man (who im not sure if he was related in the heist) was talking on his phone and started talking to me very quickly and asking which metro stop it was, then he ran off very hurriedly, I turned watched him run, then looked back the opposite way and shrugged my shoulders. At this point, I felt my bag slip, I thought it had shifted off the bench, because the movement was so light, but when I reached down to grab it….it wasn’t there. Nor was it anywhere near by. I looked all around, ran out in the the street, and saw absolutely nothing. Sneaky bastard. Hope he enjoys books on Spanish level one. Although, blocking complete merriment from me, is the fact that there were three artifacts in the bag. And I shall list them in order of importance.
1. My journal. The first thing I thought of when I asked myself, what the shit was in my bag? My memories, my inner most thoughts. My journal which has acted as a friend and confident for the past month. My journal who never judges and is there for me to work my head into a linear and sensical device. My journal. My beloved. My alleged keepsake of my time in Europe, good bye. I wish the well. Cause I know you’re in a garbage can in some shitty ally in Madrid. What an unjust fate.

2. The confidence man by Herman Melville. This was a gift from a very good friend. I’m very pissed because, A) I love getting books for gifts, and it’s one of the first I’ve received without having to ask. B) I was half way through. Damnit. And I was just starting to figure out what the hell was going on. Which, ironically. The confidence man is about crooks who steal from people by gaining their trust first. Oh, Melville, had I read quicker, maybe your truths would have saved this catastrophe.

3. Hank, my mp3 player. I list this last because it was the last thing I realized. It’s material, and I will not miss the awesome technology, though it was freaking cool. However, one month into spain, and I already miss the shit out of American music. Music in spain and Europe is not like American music. So, now, I’m really going to miss my American tunes. So long modest mouse. I will be alone down here without you. So long Rilo kiley, You were fucking beautiful. So long flaming lips. I’m afraid the robots have won. So long phosphorescent. And, no, I don’t think it will not be so hard to see you around.